


Are You Sitting Comfortably?

by missberrycake



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missberrycake/pseuds/missberrycake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then we shall begin. </p><p>In which Eames does a lot of reading. </p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/20092.html?thread=48716668#t48716668">this prompt</a> on the Inception kink-meme: "Eames has a secret past as an audiobook reader. Arthur finds a book read by him one day, under his real name, and is instantly calmed and lulled into relaxation when he plays it. </p><p>He puts it on every night before bed and unwinds, snuggling down into the pillows and wrapping up in the blankets, and eventually falling asleep to it. </p><p>After a rough job, he eventually mans up and asks Eames to read to him. And they lived happily ever after."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are You Sitting Comfortably?

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt kinda took a hold of me, especially after Tom Hardy’s insane Bane voice exploded everywhere.

It was nearing Christmas and the bustle of the crowds had Arthur avoiding the centre of town at all costs. He wasn’t a scrooge by any means, he enjoyed singing along to Christmas songs on the radio and decorating his flat as much as the next person. He just didn’t understand why the world and his wife turned into raving lunatics in the weeks leading up to Christmas day. 

This and the fact that work in the mind espionage business tended to dry up nearer the holidays meant that Arthur was spending a lot of time in his flat. He could feel the cabin fever closing in. Gathering his coat and gloves, he stepped out on to the bitingly cold street, pulling his collar up against the breeze as he turned the corner. 

After he’d been walking long enough to turn his nose pink he sidestepped into a bookshop. Smiling slightly at the little Father Christmases’ waving at him from the shop window, Arthur browsed the shelves until he came across the audio-book section and one particular cover caught his eye. A Christmas Carol filled the front of the case. Arthur remembered fondly his uncle reading Dickens’ words aloud, as they were supposed to be, to him and his cousins when he was younger. 

Picking the case up, he took it to the counter.

It wasn’t until Arthur had cleared away his dinner and poured himself a glass of wine that he settled down in the lamp light to play the first disc. He looked down at the CD sleeve and frowned at the name written on the page. No, he thought, it’s just a coincidence. At that moment a very familiar voice filled his flat and Arthur’s mouth dropped. 

‘A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Stave one, Marley’s Ghost.’ Arthur lowered himself slowly onto his settee, curling up around a pillow, the deep, melodic voice washing over him. ‘Marley was dead: to begin with...’ 

Arthur closed his eyes to Eames’ voice as it slowly brought the words to life, English accent fitting perfectly with the story it told. With the rumble of Eames’ voice vibrating in his chest, Arthur felt a twinge of guilt at listening to Eames speak without the man knowing about it. The thought melted away however as Arthur was consumed by the gentle tones surrounding him. I wonder if he’s done any other books Arthur mused as Eames relayed Scrooge’s anger at his nephew.

~

So it was that Arthur settled into a secret regime – heaven forbid if Eames himself found out about Arthur’s activities. Every evening he would crawl into bed, wrap himself in the covers and play one of Eames’ CD’s. After finishing ‘A Christmas Carol’ in one night Arthur had gone straight back to the bookshop in the morning to scout out anything else read by Eames. All the cases were piled up on Arthur’s bedside table. He’d managed to get through ‘Oliver Twist’ and ‘Great Expectations’ and was now soaking up Eames guiding him through ‘Wuthering Heights’. 

He couldn’t even lie to himself any more. It wasn’t really about the books, at this point it was just about enjoying the wonder of having Eames’ deep, mellow voice send to him to sleep. He found it so comforting. Eames’ voice wrapping around him was like a warm arm holding him close and Arthur had grown rather fond of it. 

~

Then the moment came that every addict dreads. The supply ran out. 

Arthur had been on the edge all week, even with the Christmas family reunion long gone. The job he’d been working on had been an unmitigated disaster as his Extractor turned out to be crazier than Cobb in his methods and the Architect surpassed Nash in shear inadequacy. But it’s over now Arthur reassured himself as he turned off his phone upon entering his flat. He shucked off his coat and slipped his keys into the bowl they lived in. On his way to his bedroom he paused, turned back and unplugged his phone. Last week his old college roommate had rung mid-Eames session to ‘catch-up’ and Arthur had spent 45 minutes trying to get him to hang up. Not today. It was just going to be him, his comforter and Eames’ voice. 

Except. He’d forgotten. He’d finished ‘Wuthering Heights’ on Tuesday. He quickly opened his bedside cabinet and pulled out a stack of already-listened to audio-books. 

“Damn,” Arthur cursed into the silence.

Arthur glared at the wall for far too long a time before he was distracted from his sulking by the doorbell. Probably the girl from down the road wanting to borrow some sugar again. He plodded downstairs and envisaged the hours of boredom ahead of him.

Opening the door, he froze in shock. How did he know? was the first paranoid thought to pop into his head as Eames’ face beamed at him in his doorway.

“Hello! I heard the Doyle job fell down around your ears, so I’ve come to cheer you up by serenading you with my latest success story.”

Just like that Arthur’s body started to tingle. He didn’t even speak, just stood to the side and let Eames into his flat, away from the grey drizzle outside. Eames gave him a curious look, clearly expecting some sort of retort. 

“You alright, Arthur? You look a bit dazed.”

After a moment of frantic inner battle, Arthur was defeated as the forger spoke his name again and let out an animalistic whine. “You need to come with me,” he all but growled and pulled the bewildered Eames to his bedroom. 

“I’m going to make a deal with you. I do not tell the world that you recorded the voice for a bunch of romance novels and you read this-” Arthur shoved a copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’ at Eames’ chest “-to me, no questions asked.”

Eames smiled rather too happily for Arthur’s tastes and he shifted his feet uncomfortably. “You found my little hobby then? You wouldn’t deny a man a hobby would you?” Eames’ eyes glimmered. He walked closer to Arthur and Arthur stumbled slightly. “Get in the bed then.”

Arthur grinned and dove under the covers as Eames settled down next to him. “Are you sitting comfortably?” Eames spoke, his accent turned up a notch or two. Arthur poked him in the side. “Good, then we shall begin. The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim...”

Arthur sank into his mattress, warmed from the inside and eyelids heavy. Eames read for what felt like hours and Arthur drank it all up. At some point later in the night Arthur felt gentle hands pulling up his covers and a body lean over him as he was plunged into darkness. He noticed the gentle lull of Eames’ voice had vanished. 

Cracking an eye open Arthur realised he must of curled around Eames’ body as the man had read to him. The embarrassment of the past few hours caught up with Arthur then and he tried to extract himself from Eames’ grasp.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

It was the sleepy thickness of Eames’ voice as he said those words that pulled Arthur back into the warmth. After a few moments Arthur broke the drowsy silence, “why didn’t you tell me about the books? I thought we were kinda friends” he said heavily.

“Honestly?” Eames breath skimmed the top of Arthur’s hair as he spoke, “it never occurred to me that you would be interested in it. If I’d known that was all it took to get into your bed, I would’ve done it years ago.”

“If you tell anybody about this Eames, I swear to God I will knock all your teeth out. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Of course, darling. Spreading the news that you are in fact a massive softy equals no teeth. Got it.”

Eames placed the book on top of the pile of audio-books and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of Arthur breathing deeply beside him.


End file.
